


The Way Your Mother Warned You About, Essentially

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: Pawn Takes Queen [5]
Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three very different people come to an accommodation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Your Mother Warned You About, Essentially

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> For Fred’s birthday, rather late! Beta’d by lukadreaming and x_bellaitalia_x. Follows on from Cheating Death, Lies of Omission, Lies of Commission, Practise to Deceive and Journey Home (because some people just cannot let sleeping Blades lie, fififolle, I’m looking at you.) The title comes from an A Softer World comic http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=709 , the text of which is ‘I love you the way a knife loves a heart, the way a bomb loves a crowd – the way your mother warned you about, essentially’.
> 
> Fififolle wrote a work that comes between this story and the previous one hosted on AO3, Journey Home, which is very useful for understanding this story. http://fififolle.livejournal.com/301387.html

            Lorraine had no idea how she ever managed to let Blade go – especially with Hilary holding them both up, calm and unruffled, apparently completely at ease with the situation – but eventually she did. Blade looked up at her, still sitting on the kitchen stool but now able to sit without Hilary’s support, and those green eyes fixed on her like she was everything. She remembered that he used to watch her sometimes like that, during the mission she didn’t talk about, after they’d had sex and she fell asleep and he stayed awake.

 

            She’d woken up to an empty bed every single time, regardless.

 

            Embarrassed, or possibly concerned that Hilary could read the memories off her face, she broke eye contact and cast around for a tissue. Hilary, who was evidently in the running for Boyfriend of the Year, produced a handkerchief and held it out to her.

 

            “I think we could all do with a cup of tea,” he announced matter-of-factly.

 

            Blade half-laughed and Lorraine’s eyes were drawn back to him. “You got that right,” he said, and grinned at Becker, who smiled back.

 

           He was much the same as ever, so far as she could tell; perhaps slightly leaner, visibly older and more hard-bitten, and there would be scars under his clothes, she knew – scars to match the raw wounds she’d seen the best part of three years ago. And of course, the man she’d known three years ago had had no emotional attachments at all – this one had outlived hell and waited years to track her down.

 

            Lorraine blew her nose firmly. “Yes – but did we unpack the kettle?”

 

            “Um,” Becker said, glanced futilely around the kitchen, and then ran a hand through his thick dark hair and gave her and Blade his slightly sheepish, slightly cheeky grin. “Magical mystery tour?”

 

            Lorraine rolled her eyes.

 

            “Can’t have gone far, can it?” Blade said practically, as if joining Becker in trying to break the tension.

 

            “In theory not,” Lorraine said, giving Becker a suspicious look.

 

            He raised his hands in surrender. “I put everything where you told me to.”

 

            “We’ll see, shall we?” Lorraine said, and looked at the men and suddenly saw them, really saw them, and experienced a brief moment of dizziness. A former lover and a current partner, in one room, both good men, both of whom she loved, both of whom made her happy, both of them gorgeous – this could either go amazingly well, into completely uncharted territory, or it could crash and burn and wreck her life.

 

            Combined joy and terror wound their way around her heart, and she pushed them out of the way, in favour of three things: one, Niall was alive, and this was good; two, they had misplaced their kettle, and this was a nuisance; and three, Hilary was an excellent boyfriend, and she was a very lucky woman indeed.

 

            It would help if she could completely forget the way Blade’s hands used to feel on her skin, or the things he’d taught her about spying, survival and sex (in that order), or the way his slow, blinding smile set her heart racing. It would help if she could consign it all to the past, the way she could when she was Rose Richards and she thought Blade was dead.

 

            Lorraine took a deep breath, and started checking the labels on packing boxes. She could deal with the details later; now she just needed to concentrate on one thing at a time.

 

***

 

            The goodbyes at the door were taking forever, the evening slow to end even though it was well past midnight and tea had turned into supper and coffee and sitting and talking for hours. It was obvious to Becker that neither Blade nor Lorraine wanted to let go, too terrified of losing each other again, and he was forcibly reminded of how much he’d clung to Lorraine after he’d found her again. Letters addressed to Rose Richards, phone calls chatting to _Rose_ and then _Rosie_ and then _sweetheart_ , increasing numbers of weekend visits until her neighbours started smiling at him and saying how good it was that he cheered Rose up, how sweet they were together.

 

            So Becker hung back and watched, and let the two of them get on with it.

 

            “Don’t be a stranger,” Lorraine said finally, grabbed Blade’s hands and squeezed them tightly, and then hugged him; he looked almost surprised for a moment and then rather gingerly hugged her back.

 

            She stepped backwards, brushing a hand roughly over her eyes, and then nodded sharply.

 

            Blade smiled down at her, a crooked, affectionate thing, and then caught Becker’s eye briefly. He saluted, and Becker wasn’t delusional enough to think it was aimed at him, but he returned the gesture anyway, and got an approving glint for his pains.

 

            Blade slipped out of the door, and the moment it closed, Lorraine was in Becker’s arms, breathing harsh and just this side of crying, with her arms locked around his neck.

 

            “Shh,” he murmured into her ear, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “It’s okay.”

 

            “No it’s not!” Lorraine snapped, effect ruined by the almost-tears in her voice. “It is _not_! He won’t be coming back, Hil – he’ll just vanish – I still know him  that much – I think he thinks there’s no room for him any more, and...” She leaned back so she could look him in the eye. “I love _you_ , but I don’t want him to fall out of my life!”

 

            “Yeah,” Becker said soothingly, understanding better than he would have thought possible. “I know, Lorraine. I know.” He kissed her forehead and disengaged from her gently. “Back in a minute, okay?”

 

            “Hil,” Lorraine began in total bafflement, as Becker slipped out of their front door and let it bang shut behind him.

 

            Blade was well ahead of him, but he didn’t know the building and Becker did. He reached the ground floor in record time, stepped out of the front door, and spotted Blade, heading quickly down the street with his head down and a slight limp much more apparent than it had been all evening. He put on a burst of speed and caught up with him. “Niall. Wait,” he said.

 

            Blade spun on his heel, and Becker saw a momentary glint of steel. He raised his hands placatingly. “It’s just me.”

 

            Blade stopped. “What do you want?” He looked darker and more forbidding out here, under the yellow lamp of the streetlight, and Becker was suddenly very conscious of the two inches difference in height between them. Still, his first impression – of a very handsome and seriously troubled man, who’d been knocked about more than was really fair – held true, and Becker was pretty sure he wasn’t in danger.

 

            “The same thing as you want,” Becker said coolly. “I want Lorraine to be happy. Were you planning on dropping out of her life? Because I can think of no better way to make her miserable.” He saw Blade twitch in instinctive denial and carried on. “If that’s what you wanted, you might as well have stayed away. To let her know you’re alive and you’re avoiding her voluntarily would be cruel, and I don’t think you want to treat her like that.”

 

            “I have to,” Blade said roughly.

 

            Becker lifted his eyebrows. “Who said?”

 

            “She has you,” Blade snapped. “There’s no room for me.”

 

            “She loves me, yeah,” Becker said. “But she still cares about you and she still wants you around. You mean a hell of a lot to her, _Niall Richards_.” He stressed Blade’s real name, hoping to remind him that Lorraine hadn’t masqueraded as Rose Becker when she was gone.

 

            Blade hesitated.

 

            “Look,” Becker said as coaxingly as he could, going in for the kill. “You didn’t hear her talking about you to other people when you were away – and it _was_ you. You mean a lot to her. You always will mean a lot to her.” He jerked his head, indicating the flat. “I left her upstairs crying, because she knows you and she knows you weren’t planning on hanging around. You really want to do that to her?”

 

            Blade made a determined fightback. “You really want me hanging around like a bad memory?”

 

            “Bad memory? Whose bad memory?” Becker shrugged. “Like I said, I want her to be happy. You make her happy. I don’t actively dislike you. I understand what it’s like to lose her and think she’s gone from you forever, so I know you don’t want to lose her again. It’s not rocket science.”  


            “I like rocket science,” Blade muttered, for no reason that Becker could see, and then sighed. “All right. Fine.”

 

            Becker took out his phone. “What’s your number?”

 

            Blade gave it to him, sounding distinctly reluctant, and Becker sent him a text composed of a string of numbers.

 

            “The text’s from me. The number is Lorraine’s.” Becker tucked his phone away again, and nodded sharply. “Stay in touch.”

 

            “I will,” Blade said, sounding a little less reluctant. “And Becker...”

 

            “Yes?”

 

            “Thanks,” Blade said, a smile twitching at the corner of that wide mouth, and Becker took a moment to realise what Lorraine had seen in him. 

 

            “No problem,” he said as briskly as he could under the circumstances, “just don’t let her down,” and hurried back inside.

 

***

 

            Blade definitely wasn’t expecting a call from Becker, of all people. Oh, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked in the past few months; he’d been keeping his end up, fulfilling their wholly unexpected deal to stay in touch for Lorraine’s sake if nothing else, and he’d come to the conclusion that he liked the man. He was much more subtle and intelligent than Ditzy had managed to make him sound – unless that was Blade’s jealousy speaking. He was clearly a good match for Lorraine, probably a better one than Blade... And if Blade was perfectly honest with himself, which he tried to avoid, he had been too selfish and careful to let Lorraine believe there was anything more than sex and professionalism in the way he’d sought her out and watched over her and taught her the odd trick she needed to know. Nearly dying had cured him of that, but it was too late now – especially because he genuinely liked the man she really did love.

 

            It took him a few moments, therefore, to register the fact that Becker had called him, and wished to speak to him, and – what _was_ this, seriously?

 

            “Sorry?” he said blankly, realising that Becker had come to an expectant pause, and he had no idea what the previous sentences had consisted of.

 

            “I said,” Becker repeated, with trademark patience, “I’m being sent out to Afghanistan in two weeks’ time. For six months.”

 

            “Oh,” Blade said, and was deeply surprised to realise that he was uneasy at the thought.

 

            “Yeah.” Becker cleared his throat, and Blade guessed that he was running his hand through his hair, which was something of a nervous tic, or a sign he was thinking, or possibly both: Blade hadn’t figured it out yet and wasn’t prepared to admit he spent that much time watching Becker anyway. “I was wondering, will you look in on Lorraine? A couple of times? She doesn’t have much of a support group. I mean, she knows Mrs Preston and Claire Bradley, and a couple of other people – but she hasn’t been near them since the Lester project went tits up. She’s convinced they think she’s a traitor.”

 

            Blade thought back to Ditzy, convinced that Lorraine had been acting as a double agent and saving Lester’s bacon, even though he had no proof. “I doubt that.”

 

            “Yeah, me too, and last time I met Mrs Preston I got backed into a corner and interrogated on the subject of Lorraine. Where was she, was she well, was something the matter, had we broken up. Let me tell you, that was fucking _terrifying_. Nobody at Sandhurst ever tells you that you’ll spend your time dodging pointed questions from your CO’s wife about your love-life.” Becker sighed. “But you know Lorraine; stubborn as hell.”

 

            Blade snorted. “Yeah. Of course I’ll keep an eye on her. I mean, I probably won’t be around all the time myself, but, you know – I can drop in?”

 

            “She’d love that,” Becker said, with real relief in his voice. “Thanks, Blade. Will you tell me if anything goes spectacularly wrong for her? Because she won’t, I can tell you that much.”

 

            “Not a problem,” Blade replied, wondering what he was getting himself into. “And, um, Becker – you can call me Niall.”

 

            There was a brief pause, and then - “Thanks,” Becker said, with a smile in his voice. “Niall. Talk later, yeah? Are you still coming round for supper this weekend?”

 

            “Yes,” Blade said. “See you then.”

 

            He ended the call and dropped his phone onto the sofa beside him, letting the newspaper he’d been reading fall.

 

            This wasn’t what he’d envisioned happening when he’d asked Ditzy to help him track down Lorraine Wickes, but he thought he was glad it had turned out this way.

 

***

 

            Lorraine opened the door to the flat she shared with her boyfriend, and - as she had every evening for the past two weeks – let out a defeated sigh at its emptiness. Maybe it would be easier if they hadn’t chosen the flat together, if it were hers instead of theirs. It had been much easier for Rose Richards, who was technically speaking a widow with a growing soft spot for an old friend, to wave Hilary goodbye. As Lorraine Wickes, she was completely invested in Hilary and his wellbeing, and – the real crucial difference - she could freely admit it.

 

            She dropped her handbag on the kitchen table and slung her coat over the back of her chair. It had been a reasonable day at work; she was getting used to the place now, and it was refreshingly unlike any of the top-secret and worryingly personal places she’d been before. Unlike the ARC, she could open doors without concerning herself about the possibility of shagging colleagues on the other side of them. She’d also resolved a minor snarl with the publishers, so her book was well on the way to publication. She still couldn’t quite believe it, and occasionally wondered if it would have been better to work her research up into a Master’s thesis – it might have stopped her new colleagues from assuming she knew nothing about economics. Then again, an author was much harder to trace than a postgrad student.

 

            She put the kettle on absent-mindedly and was startled when the phone rang; she dropped the mug she’d picked up, which fell into the sink and chipped, and seized the phone. “Hello?”

 

            “Lorraine? It’s me,” Blade said, sounding oddly tentative.

 

            “Oh!” Lorraine leaned against the counter for support. “Niall! How are you?”

 

            “I’m okay. Chilcott working me like a slave, as usual.” Blade hesitated. “Fancy some company this evening?”

 

            “Yes,” Lorraine said, slightly too fast. “Yes, that would be – brilliant. Come over and play a game of chess with me. Becker’s out in Afghanistan, though, I’m on my own.”

 

            “I know,” Blade said, seriously surprising Lorraine. “He mentioned. I can cook, if you like? You sound shattered.”

 

            “I am,” Lorraine admitted. “That would be – that would be amazing, Niall. And – I didn’t know you’d been talking to Becker.”

 

            “He called me.” Blade cleared his throat. “I asked him to call me Niall. Thought it was appropriate.”

 

            “You have no idea how glad I am that you two get along,” Lorraine said with feeling. Blade’s reappearance, although she ranked it among the best things that had ever happened to her, could easily have ruined her relationship with Becker. Were Becker a more naturally suspicious person, were he less inclined to trust her... she didn’t like to think about it.

 

            Blade cleared his throat again, this time sounding embarrassed. “Yes. Well. Be over in half an hour, okay?”

 

***

 

            Becker pulled the car to a stop outside Ditzy and Claire’s house, and looked over at Lorraine. “You’re _sure_ you’re all right with this?”

 

            “Yes, I am,” Lorraine said confidently, although Becker could see mild anxiety lurking at the back of her eyes; despite Blade’s reassurances and Claire ringing up to invite her here not long after Becker and the others had got back from Afghanistan, Lorraine was clearly still worried about this. “I’ve got you, remember? And Niall swore on my life that nobody thinks of me as a traitor, which was – you know – most of what I was worried about.”

 

            Becker nodded, and squeezed her hand. “He’d never lie to you. It’ll be fine, love.”

 

            “Yes,” Lorraine said, but her fingers were still wrapped very tightly around his.

 

            He looked into her eyes and felt a small, involuntary smile slip onto his face. Fuck, he loved her. “C’mere, you.” He leant forward and kissed her softly, tasting sweet sticky lipgloss on her lips; she relaxed slightly as she reciprocated, and he drew back and smiled at her. “Have I just screwed up your make-up?”

 

            “No,” Lorraine said, and laughed, reaching out to wipe lipgloss from his lips with a thumb. “But raspberry is a very fetching colour on you.”  


            He pulled a face and licked his lips, deliberately catching her thumb. “Gone?”

 

            “Gone,” she confirmed, still giggling slightly. “Right. Let’s go.”

 

            They climbed out of the car, and he locked it behind them, casually taking Lorraine’s hand as they walked up to the front door and Lorraine pressed the bell. Ross Jenkins opened it, half a burger in his mouth, which he swallowed in a hurry when he realised who he was talking to. “Hi, boss. Hi, Miss Wickes. Everyone’s through in the garden – Ditzy sent me to find the beer.”

 

            Becker grinned. “Hi, Jenkins. Better get on with that, hadn’t you? Last time I was here, he had a stash under the stairs, but I don’t think Claire knows about that one.”

 

            “I wouldn’t put _anything_ past Claire,” Ross said with deep-seated conviction, and got out of their way.

 

            Becker glanced at Lorraine, who smiled slightly at him and let go of his fingers. “I remember the way to the garden,” she said, apropos of nothing in particular, and Becker nodded and followed her there even though he could remember the way perfectly himself.

 

            Ditzy and Claire’s garden was stuffed; Becker had known it would be, seeing as it was the first barbecue of the summer. Lester’s evil brat was playing with little Beth Cooper and preventing her from diving headfirst into a flowerbed, but Becker got a grin and a wave out of her; Lester himself noticed, and came over to greet Lorraine.

 

            “Lorraine. Good to see you again,” he said blandly, and shook hands warmly and kissed her on both cheeks, which was more affection than Becker had expected to see from the frigid old reptile, but he supposed that Lester had put her life in jeopardy on more than one occasion and had a right to be attached. “How have you been?”

 

            “Well, thank you,” Lorraine said calmly, and smiled. “Hil’s been taking care of me. You, sir?”

 

            “Oh, much as ever, Lorraine. It’s still a madhouse; I just don’t have you to tame it,” Lester said matter-of-factly. “Jessica Parker is undoubtedly a genius, but she won’t be as good as you for another five years. Thank you for the advance copy of your book, by the way; I very much enjoyed it.”

 

            Lorraine blushed and smiled with genuine pleasure, and Becker blessed Lester for picking on the one thing guaranteed to make Lorraine an extremely happy bunny. “I enjoyed writing it. I’d forgotten how much I used to love academia.”

 

            “Much as you would be an ornament to Britain’s universities,” Lester said dryly, “I can’t help feeling that if you stopped working for the civil service, the country would fall apart. Still, I look forward to your next book. You remember Lyle, of course.”

 

            Lyle had sneaked up on the conversation from behind, as far as Becker was concerned; a dirty trick, but one Becker couldn’t really blame him for, especially as it gave Lorraine no time to panic. He sidled up beside Lester, slung an arm around the other man’s shoulders and shook hands with Lorraine. “We thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth, Miss Wickes. Good to see you back in one piece!”

 

            Lorraine gave a slightly strained smile. “Believe me, there were days when I thought it would never happen,” she said quite quietly, and Becker slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and worried about her for a bit before Finn successfully set fire to his own trousers and his attention was diverted.

 

            He looked around him half an hour later with Finn’s trousers doused and his mild burns treated (although his pride was probably a lost cause) and realised that he had completely lost track of Lorraine. He felt a stab of anxiety and guilt – he’d promised Niall he would look after her here, where she was most in need of reinforcements – and went in search of her.

 

            “My wife’s probably cornered her in the kitchen,” Major Preston volunteered when Becker stopped to ask Ditzy if he’d seen her. There was an all-too-knowing look in his eye, and Becker was torn between worrying about Lorraine and bridling slightly at the conspiring that had evidently been going on. “Wouldn’t worry if I were you, Becker. I’m told Lorraine Wickes can hold her own.”

 

            “Of course, sir,” Becker said colourlessly, and made a bee-line for the kitchen.

 

            The door was half-open, and he paused just outside it and waited, listening to the conversation inside. Lorraine had not been cornered by Lizzie Preston; she had been cornered by Lizzie Preston, Claire Bradley, and Liz Lester, and Becker wasn’t sure if the latter was acting as Lorraine’s reinforcements, the terrible cop to Claire and Lizzie’s good and bad cops, a Greek chorus, or merely a popcorn-bearing spectator. Either way, it wasn’t fair.

 

            “...all we want to know,” Lizzie said, with deceptively gentle patience, “is if it’s true.”

 

            “What’s true?” Lorraine said coolly. “I’m not following, Mrs Preston, sorry.”

 

            “She means,” Claire filled in, “did you sell them out, or didn’t you? We’re not stupid, Lorraine. We may not know what James’s project does, but we do know a basic outline of what happened to it a couple of years ago, and we do know that a lot of people thought you were responsible...”

 

            “They were wrong,” Lorraine said, descending from cool to cold, but Becker could hear the numbness in her voice. “I was acting under James’s orders, and I did a reasonably good job of it. The project wouldn’t exist in its current form if I hadn’t done what I did.”

 

            “Where’s the proof?” Claire said sceptically.

 

            “Proof?” Lorraine exclaimed, sounding seriously indignant. “Claire, you may not think very much of me, but I _am_ a professional – of _course_ there’s no proof.”

 

            Luckily, Liz’s crack of laughter drowned out Becker’s snigger. “She’s telling the truth, guys, I think we can lay off.”

 

            “Fine,” Lizzie said, sounding much warmer. “We believe you. Welcome back, Lorraine. Don’t scare us like that again.”

 

            There was the sound of footsteps, and Becker didn’t get out of the way before Liz pulled open the door, walked straight into him and burst out laughing.

 

            “God, could you _get_ more protective?” she said without malice, and moved past him, still snickering. Lizzie and Claire went past as well, Claire’s eyes glittering with amusement, Lizzie’s serene and completely free of remorsefulness for the interrogation she’d just subjected Lorraine to, and Becker waited until they were gone before meeting Lorraine’s eyes.

 

            “I’m so sorry, Lorraine, I had no idea they were going to do that or I’d never have left you alone,” he said in a rush, but she was smiling and shaking her head as she came to him.

 

            “I knew it was coming as soon as I realised Lizzie had spotted a diversion,” she assured him. “I don’t think she had Finn set his trousers on fire, but I almost wouldn’t put it past her.” She put her arms around his waist and leaned against him for a moment. “No hard feelings; it had to be said. They just wanted to check, I think. Niall did say that might happen. And Liz was on my side.”

 

            Becker kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on her hair, remembering Liz’s reaction to him turning up at her family’s flat and essentially threatening her father. “Yes, but would you back her against Lizzie and Claire?”

 

            “Maybe. In ten years’ time, definitely,” Lorraine said, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad we came.”

 

            “Good,” Becker said softly, silently thanking Niall Richards for succeeding where he had failed in nudging her to make contact with her old friends and support network, and was startled out of a pleasant reverie by Liz Lester banging on the kitchen window to get their attention.

 

            “Oi! Lovebirds! There’s cake if you want it!”

 

***

 

            Blade wasn’t asleep when he heard the noises. Tossing, turning, and half-choked, gasping sounds that spelt out a nightmare, and they were coming from the room Lorraine and Becker were sleeping in - and the crying voice was certainly not Becker’s, although his voice could be heard talking quietly.

 

            Blade had no idea what to do. Every instinct was telling him to go to Lorraine at once, and he thought she would welcome the comfort, but maybe Becker could care for her better; Lorraine’s distress had the awful weary sound of someone who has suffered it recurrently for months, and Becker had certainly been sleeping with her that long. Blade had stayed over a few times before, and never overheard any nightmares; was it possible that he’d been too deeply asleep to hear her? If so, surely Becker would be used to comforting her, and would prefer to sort it out without him interfering.

 

            And yet...

 

            He got up, pushing back the covers and putting aside the proof of Lorraine’s book he’d been reading, and went out through his half-open door into the darkened flat and down the corridor. He hesitated, and then heard Becker’s voice, rough with tiredness and anxiety.

 

            “Hush, love,” Becker was saying, “it’s okay, I promise, it’s fine... Oh God, Lorraine, wake up, wake _up_ , you’re dreaming...”

 

            That decided Blade. He pushed the door open gently, and found the bedroom lit by the single soft light of a lamp, and Becker curled around Lorraine’s twisting form, shaking her shoulders and staring down at her with unconcealed worry, his usually neat black hair falling into his eyes. He glanced up sharply.

 

            Blade nodded at Lorraine. “Nightmare?”

 

            “Yeah.” Becker turned his attention back to Lorraine, trying again to wake her. She just screwed her eyes shut and whimpered, curling into a tighter ball.

 

            “About... when she worked for Six?” Blade shifted awkwardly, desperate to go to Lorraine.

 

            “Could be that. Could be – a couple of other things.” Becker gave him the quick wary look that Blade was coming to learn referred to whatever it was Lorraine had done for James Lester’s project, the one Ditzy still worked on. “Lorraine, Lorraine...” Becker bent his head to Lorraine’s ear. “Lorraine, baby. Wake up. Wake up, _please_.”

 

            With a gasp and a sob, Lorraine’s eyes flew open, and she shot upright; Becker bolted upright with her and grabbed her, holding her tightly and rubbing a hand roughly along her back as she took a choked breath and started to cry panickily. “Hil – Hil – I –”

 

            Blade couldn’t stay still in the door any longer. He stepped forward, and the movement caught Lorraine’s frightened eyes – she jerked in Becker’s arms as if looking for a weapon, and then her eyes filled with relief as she registered Blade. She held an arm out and spoke, tears still winding down her face, voice rasping and shaky. “Niall –”

 

            Blade’s eyes flicked to Becker, who nodded without a flicker of uncertainty in his face, and settled his arms more easily around her, stroking her hair with the same gentleness that half-reconciled Blade to his intimacy with Lorraine. Blade took a step forward, and then a second, and then found himself on the rumpled bed with them, Lorraine half-leaning against him, still shaking.

 

            “What was it?” he asked, as quietly as he could when he was terrified for her. “What were you dreaming about?”

 

            “I was... I dreamt...” Lorraine gulped and rested her head on Blade’s shoulder; Becker nuzzled the back of her neck and took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers. “I... it was like, before I was extracted. Remember?  How it all went wrong so quickly, and – and dust and fear, and blood, so much blood, and you were there, both of you, you were there and you were dying and I left you - I _left_ you –”

 

            “No – no, Lorraine. Love.” Becker pressed a kiss to the side of her jaw. “We’re here, both here. It’s all right. It didn’t happen like that.”

 

            “I know,” Lorraine sobbed, “I know – but it was so real... So _real_...”

 

            She put an arm around Blade’s neck, breaking into another fit of tears, but a less racking one. Blade shifted forwards, sliding an arm around her waist, her skin warm and smooth under the thin silky camisole and shorts she was wearing; his arm brushed against Becker’s bare torso, the contact giving him an odd sort of shock. Becker’s brown eyes met his, and Becker mouthed the word _thanks_.

 

            Blade ducked his head, and leant his face against Lorraine’s hair. She slid closer against him, then stiffened and grabbed for Becker as he made to move away. “Hil!”

 

            The terror in her voice wrenched at Blade’s heart, and he glowered at Becker; he had no idea how the other man could leave her when she sounded so frightened.

 

            “Ssh,” Becker murmured, and Blade got the impression that he was speaking to both Blade and Lorraine. “I’m going to get you a glass of water, that’s all. I’m not going far. Niall, tell her.”

 

            “He’s right,” Blade said. “We’re still here. We’re both still here.” He ran a hand tentatively up her back, and felt both her arms slide around his shoulders and her weight shift forward almost into his lap.

 

            Becker smiled – which was odd, considering that the woman he was very much in love with was perched in her ex-boyfriend’s lap, in an emotionally vulnerable and half-dressed state – and slid off the bed, padding out towards the kitchen, soundless and smooth in his movements like some kind of wildcat, strong and confident and untouched in comparison to the scarred mess of Blade’s body. A light went on down the corridor, and the sound of a tap running was heard.

 

            Lorraine’s crying had stopped, and she was now slumped bonelessly in Blade’s arms, chest heaving as she sought to recover her breath. Blade tried to ignore the warmth and weight of her in his arms, the feel of her coming down from an adrenaline high, all of it painfully familiar and having a distracting effect on his libido. He whispered to her softly, nonsense words, and rocked her slowly back and forth and reminded himself of her vulnerability and her reliance on him and the fact that she was in love with Becker.

 

            At that opportune moment, Becker returned, carrying a very large glass of water, having switched off the lights behind him. He came and sat back down on the bed, and Lorraine turned in Blade’s arms and reached out for the glass, offering him a shaky smile.

 

            Becker gave her an answering smile and put the glass in her hands. Blade let his arms slide away from Lorraine’s waist, but she stayed leaning against him. Becker rested a hand on her thigh as Lorraine drank greedily, evidently very thirsty.

 

            “Feeling better?”

 

            Lorraine nodded, and passed the glass up to Blade, who hesitated before taking a gulp of water and handing it back to Becker, who drained it and put it back on the bedside table.

 

            “Do you think you can sleep?” he said, and brushed her cheek with his fingers.

 

            Lorraine nodded again, and yawned.

 

            Blade took this as his cue to leave, and moved backwards, carefully disengaging himself from Lorraine, who noticed the movement and seized his wrist. “ _No_! Niall, please – _please_ –”

 

            “Okay!” Blade said hastily, eyes flying to Becker’s. They were unhelpfully opaque, one eyebrow raised, as if to say that Becker wanted to know how Blade would handle this. “I just – Lorraine. I doubt Becker will want me in your bed.”

 

            “If it were just me,” Becker said steadily, “I’d have no objections, believe me. And if Lorraine needed you – I’d actively encourage it.”

 

            Blade felt his breath catch and stop in his throat, and his eyes were riveted to Becker’s.

 

            “Stay,” Becker said softly.

 

            Blade looked down into Lorraine’s face, and knew he couldn’t leave her like that. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I will.”

 

            “Good,” Lorraine breathed, tiredness taking over in her voice, and Blade lowered her down onto the bed, following her down and feeling bloody awkward as Becker settled down on the bed beside them, Lorraine shifting so she had her back pressed up against Blade and her legs tangled with Becker’s, her fingers interlaced with his, her face upturned to meet his. Cautiously, Blade put an arm over Lorraine’s waist, and felt her snuggle into him, into both of them, and sink abruptly back into her interrupted sleep.

 

            Something very interesting was clearly going on in her head, and Blade had no pretensions to understanding any of it. Physically, he knew her reasonably well, and he thought he had a good grasp of her strengths and weaknesses as an agent, but Becker knew her much better in some ways.

 

            Blade found himself looking into Becker’s eyes, an expression of combined hopelessness and confusion on his own face.

 

            Becker’s smile was irrepressible. “No, I don’t know what’s going on either.” His whispered words carried clearly in the silent bedroom.

 

            “Won’t she wake?” Blade said even more quietly, indicating his armful of Lorraine.

 

            Becker shook his head and tightened his fingers on Lorraine’s. “Not to our voices, or even to the alarm. She will if you move, though, so I’m afraid you’re stuck here at least for the night.”

 

            Blade had no problem with that, and no way to express it.

 

            “And one time,” Becker continued, “the radio alarm went on with a report from Afghanistan first thing, and she certainly woke to _that_.” He brushed her hair out of her face, and replaced the strap of her camisole, which had slid from her shoulder, letting the rich violet silk of her camisole curl away from her skin. “That went badly.”

 

            Blade winced, and felt Lorraine murmur and stir. Becker leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and she stilled. “How long has this been going on?”

 

            “Since before we were first together,” Becker answered. “At least two and a half years. It’s my betting that she’s had the problem since she came back from... wherever it was you were. But there have been things that have happened since.”

 

            “Like what?”

 

            “There was... an incident. At the project, before I joined it. An attack. A lot of people died; Lorraine was lucky to survive.”

 

            “Survivor’s guilt on survivor’s guilt,” Blade said quietly, heart sinking. “Then?”

 

            “Then James Lester convinced her to play a double game for him.” Becker’s lips thinned. “She did it alone. She told no-one. She fooled me for a good three months, and then I found out – but I should have known – she always warned me there were things she couldn’t tell me. That’s why I left her, because I felt like she lied to me.”

 

            Blade glared furiously at him, not wanting to startle and wake Lorraine, but wanting to convey to Becker what a complete and utter bastard he’d been.

 

            Becker winced and closed his eyes briefly. “You can’t curse me for it more than I do myself. Trust me on this one. So – she really was alone. She still kept it going. Broke Christine Johnson’s power...” He shook his head. “And then she vanished. Lost complete track of her for six months. She got back into contact with me, and I think you know the rest.” His lips curled, though whether at Blade’s determined stalking, or at the memory of finding Lorraine again, Blade didn’t know.

 

           “What about when she was away? When she was using my name?” Blade said roughly.

 

           “She was alone,” Becker said, face falling back into worried lines. “I don’t know how she coped.” He shook his head again. “Ask her. I have, and she won’t tell me. She might tell you.”

 

           He closed his eyes, and appeared to settle down to sleep.

 

          “Becker!” Blade hissed.

 

          Becker cracked an eye open. “What?”

 

         “This.” Blade gestured. “Are you?- I mean, is this...”

 

         “I told you,” Becker said with a note of irritation, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on.” A mischievous smile crept across his face, and Blade felt a deep sense of foreboding – _Niall Richards, you are out of your depth_. “But I encourage it.” Becker shifted slightly, getting comfortable, but still did not open his eyes. “Go to sleep, Niall. It probably won’t look any less weird in the morning, but we’ll be more awake to deal with it.”

 

***

 

            Lorraine woke slowly, wrapped in an overwhelming sense of safety that slowly flickered towards panic as she realised that – while she was not alone – Becker wasn’t in her bed. There was a dent and thrown-back covers where he had been, but Hilary himself was absent.

 

            She stirred, and the arm thrown over her waist tightened slightly. “He’s in the shower.”

 

            “What?” Lorraine said in confusion, finally registering the sound of the water running down the corridor, but finding it crowded out of her mind by the knowledge of who exactly was sharing her bed. “ _Niall_?”

 

            She felt him nod, and the arm around her loosened. “He said one of us should stay with you till you woke.”

 

            Lorraine sat up, reeling slightly. “I’ve never woken up with you before.”

 

            Blade turned onto his back and looked up at her, inscrutable as ever. “No, I know.”

 

            She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, partly for comfort, partly to shield herself, very conscious of her thin and rather revealing nightwear. The fact that he was lying in her bed, in her and Hilary’s bed – looking increasingly uncomfortable, but nonetheless there – that was doing things to her she wasn’t sure she should admit to. “I...”

 

            “Don’t you remember?” Blade’s words were gentle, but she could hear disappointment behind them. “You had a nightmare.”

 

            “I,” Lorraine repeated, and then the memory of the previous night hit her like a sledgehammer. “ _Oh_.” She buried her face in her hands, and felt Blade sit up and put a hand on her back.

 

            “Do you want me to stay or go?”

 

            “Don’t leave,” and the words fell from her lips so quickly that her mind had no time to question them. “But – I... Can I have a moment?”

 

            “Of course,” Blade said, and paused. “I’ll go and put the kettle on. Coffee.”

 

            “Yes,” Lorraine said, head still in her hands, so she wouldn’t have to see him, look him in the eyes and face the fact that she was in love with two utterly different men, and desperately needed them both – and had as good as admitted it to both of them last night. “That would be... that would be good.”

 

            When he’d gone, she gave herself a few moments to breathe, then climbed reluctantly out of bed – for pity’s sake, even the _sheets_ smelt like her, him, them, and they’d done nothing but sleep, and she could hardly stand to touch them for guilt and wanting – and found her dressing gown, hung up on the inside of her wardrobe. Hilary had bought it for her for Christmas, soft, dark gold silk slipping through her fingers, and as she wrapped it around herself she felt obscurely comforted.

 

            She shut the wardrobe door and rested her forehead against it, breathing slowly and trying to draw on that comfort. She hadn’t ruined the life she’d built for herself over the past few months. She hadn’t lost them both by seeking to draw them closer in a moment of panic. She hadn’t misstepped –

 

            And she wasn’t in the habit of lying to herself. She straightened up and went out of her bedroom before she could change her mind, knowing that she’d made her mistakes and she had no choice but to build on them.

 

           The scene in the kitchen was strangely domestic; Blade, slowly pressing down the handle of the cafetière, all his considerable powers of concentration focussed on one trivial object, leaning into the sunshine streaming through the windows, gilding lean muscle and old tattoos and young scars. She caught her breath, eyes riveted to the twisted tissue of his lower back.

 

           “Not very pretty, is it?” Blade said calmly, reaching for the mugs (and of course he’d been here enough times to know where they were).

 

            “Prettier than it was,” she retorted, and both of them turned sharply as the shower turned off and Hilary, who always did know how to make an entrance, stepped out into the corridor.

 

            “Is that coffee I can smell?” he said, a pleased smile lighting up his face, and Lorraine was temporarily too distracted by the sight of him dripping wet, soaking black hair falling into his face, and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely round his hips, to answer.

 

            She was not too distracted to notice Blade’s sharp intake of breath, or the way his eyes flickered up and down Becker’s body. A slight suspicion, too brilliant and unlikely to believe, slipped into her mind, and she clamped down on her facial expressions for fear they would give her away – because Blade hadn’t just climbed into bed with her, she now realised; he’d climbed into bed with both of them.

 

            Hilary hadn’t missed Blade’s reaction either, and his smile turned smoother and more wicked, directed at Blade in a way Lorraine knew well, a way that made it feel like you were the centre of the universe, and a very desirable centre at that. “Lorraine has good taste in men, doesn’t she?”

 

            Blade’s reaction was the most incoherent expression Lorraine had ever seen, confusion and guilt and agreement and lust wrapped into one complicated whole, and Lorraine decided that someone was going to have to take action before Hilary ran rampant, preying on other people’s libidos, as he was liable to do if left unchecked.

 

            “Certainly in terms of aesthetics,” she said, pouring herself and Blade mugs of coffee to cover her own delirious hope that this was going somewhere good. “Put some trousers on, Hil.”

 

            “Aww,” Hilary said, still grinning like the cat that had cornered the canary and intended to make it sweat. “Do I have to?”

 

            She brought him a mug of coffee as well, and kissed him lightly on the lips, one eye to Blade’s reaction. He tensed, but Lorraine knew his jealousy, and whatever his reaction was, it wasn’t that. “Yes,” she told Becker, “you do.”

 

            Had that been interest from Niall? She was cheating herself; it couldn’t be.

 

            Becker’s brown eyes glittered mischievously down at her. _Spoil my fun_ , he mouthed.

 

            “Don’t play games with this, Hil,” she said out loud, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “It’s confusing enough without that.”

 

            “Sorry, love,” Becker said, with apparent (although probably not actual, Lorraine conceded) remorse. He glanced over at Blade, standing stock-still and trying unsuccessfully to hide his confusion. “Sorry, Niall.”

 

            Blade shook his head, and a tiny glimmer of a smile just appeared on his face. “Shameless bastard.”

 

            Becker laughed and wandered off into the bedroom, and Lorraine rolled her eyes.

 

            “What’s he playing at?” Blade demanded, when the bedroom door had closed behind Becker.

 

            “I have absolutely no idea,” Lorraine said truthfully, taking a seat at the kitchen table, then paused and added carefully: “But I want to find out.”

 

            Blade held her gaze for a moment, and then his eyes fell. “Lorraine, I –”

 

            “Wait,” she said quickly. “This is – we need all three of us here.”

 

            Blade nodded without looking back up at her, and her words echoed in the flat. _All three of us_ – yes, that was what it was about now. It wasn’t Hilary and Lorraine, or Lorraine and Niall; all three of them had a stake in this, and all three of them were as tightly wound together as any married couple she’d ever met.

 

            Lorraine thought of some of the married couples she’d met and mentally revised that.

 

            However you phrased it, anyway – they were... attached. No-one was going anywhere. They’d managed to work their three separate lives into a knot of Gordian proportions, and Lorraine was almost sure that none of them was going to try to cut it. If she could have been completely sure, she would have been happier in that moment than she’d ever been – but she couldn’t.

 

            Becker came out of their room, having casually pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms that just about stayed on his hips and towelled his hair dry, so that it was sticking up on end and falling into his eyes. He was still drinking his coffee as he sauntered over and sat down at the kitchen table, leaning over to share a distinctly coffee-y kiss with Lorraine. “Am I decent?”

 

            “Dressed, possibly,” Lorraine said in her most suspicious voice, and enjoyed the chuckle that elicited from Becker, and the snort that escaped Blade. She turned to Blade. “Niall. Won’t you join us?”

 

            She winced at her phrasing even as the words came out of her mouth; they sounded too stilted, too old-fashioned, too silly. But Blade didn’t seem to care; he looked at them both for a long, searching moment, then stepped forward and took a seat, and it felt like something fell into place.

 

            Now she just had to make it fit into words.

 

            Lorraine took a deep breath, assembled some thoughts, and started, voice hesitant and too formal as usual. “I... want to start by saying I’m sorry you had to see that last night. Both of you. It... shouldn’t have happened.”  


            She was staring down at her mug, but she did catch the quick, almost unconscious exchange of glances between Blade and Becker. Blade reached out and put his hand over her wrist for a moment, and Becker’s fingers rested on her thigh.

 

            “I can’t speak for Becker,” Blade said roughly, “but I’d rather know and be able to do something about it than let you just –”

 

            “Suffer,” Becker completed, when Blade let the sentence hang in the air as if he didn’t want to finish it. He nudged her with his shoulder, and she looked at him. “You were recommended a therapist, love, but if you won’t see them, then we’ll still be here for you.”

 

            “Both of you?” Lorraine challenged. “Because it seems to me – this is what worries me. I love you _both_. Not in exactly the same way, but I _do_. And I hope you know that, both of you. And – and – I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad you looked after me, and I remember last night, you know. I remember both of you. But...” She ran her hands through her braids, frustrated, and Becker went to fill the silence but was stopped by a warning glance from Blade and a quick shake of his head.

 

            “... this isn’t just about me and you, and me and you – this is _all three of us_. And I need to know you’re all right with that, both of you, I need to know that if this is really where we’re going – and I never _ever_ anticipated having this conversation, so please excuse the awkwardness - you can be happy together as much as you can with me, because... I can’t be the sole common link here. I can’t.” She lifted her head, and looked at both of them, feeling herself teetering on a knife’s edge. “I don’t think that would work.”

 

            “I agree with you,” Becker answered slowly, but his eyes were on Niall. “I don’t think it would.”

 

            Blade simply nodded, eyes fixed on Becker’s, and Lorraine felt her breath coming short. “You know what I think.”

 

            “Know what?” Lorraine said, puzzled.

 

            Becker grinned. “Are you thinking of the time you heard us? When you stayed over a couple of weeks ago?”

 

            “ _What_?” Lorraine exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. They had had sex when Niall was in the flat, that was true, but she’d been quiet – Hilary hadn’t been, but he’d assured her, laughing, that the walls were thick enough and Niall’s hearing wasn’t that good. Apparently _someone_ had been bending the truth.

 

            A dull flush crept onto Blade’s face. “How did you know?-”

 

            “I watched you watching us, afterwards,” Becker said, a very self-satisfied look on his face. “How many times have you got off thinking about us, Niall? All three of us?”

 

            “That is _not_ what I meant!” said Lorraine, blushing herself.

 

            “But it is, kind of,” Blade told her, breaking eye-contact with Becker, his expression embarrassed and rather sheepish. “I don’t just want you any more. I want you together. Because – you’re just _right_ like that.”

 

            “And outside sex?” Lorraine demanded. “You woke up with us this morning. You stayed with us. Does that mean-?”

 

            “Yeah, well, I’d like to do that again too,” Blade conceded, face more or less on fire. “That’s – yes, I’d like that. I like – spending time with you. Doesn’t the last - _year_ prove that? Fuck it, Lorraine, do I really have to talk about my _feelings_ when all I want to do is take you both to bed?”

 

            Lorraine stared at him, jaw more or less scraping the floor. “Um. No?” she guessed, and put her head in her hands. “I – Well, _good_. I mean. _Great_. I mean - this is more than I can process at this time in the morning!”

 

            Becker laughed at them both, and reached out and turned her face towards him so he could plant a smacking kiss on her lips, then leant right over the table and did the same for Niall, which – that sight did things to Lorraine that couldn’t be discussed in mixed company.

 

           “You don’t have to.” Becker’s eyes were glittering with the same mischievous glint that had gradually made its way into Niall’s, and Lorraine could feel something spreading through her, something warm and almost too happy to believe, strangely like exhilaration and security at the same time. “We could always go back to bed, and work it out. Between the three of us, I think we could do it.”

 

            “I think we could do just about anything,” Lorraine said, unable to keep the smile off her face, “between the three of us.”

 

            And for the first time in years, she felt more or less complete.


End file.
